What makes it okay
by scorsby
Summary: Crowley watches Aziraphale sleep and wonders whether he is still a demon at all.


**First attempt at a new pairing, to celebrate a year of fanfiction from me, Whoo!**

**So this is Crowley from Good Omens, by Pratchett and Gaiman. Like I said, it's a first attempt, so be gentle. And um… read the book, it's amazing.**

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Crowley sometimes wonders whether he actually is a demon. These thoughts come at unusual times. When he is lounging on his leather settee, or feeding the ducks. But mostly these thoughts come when he is with Aziraphale.

He doesn't look demon-ish. Although he half-heartedly passes this off as an attempt to stay inconspicuous as a field agent, he knows the real reason. He likes looking like this. No oozing or maggots or other horrible adornments which would mess up his designer suits. He likes the way women stop as they pass him in the streets, he likes the way he can tempt without attempt and most of all he likes the way his attire perfectly contrasts Aziraphale's.

He is perfectly capable of doing demon-ly deeds. He is, after all, responsible for the most demon-ly deed in history. Afterwards he received several commendations, a place in the third order of Demons and an office with _a plaque _on the door. The plaque is one of Crowley's most prized possessions. It reminds him that they do still need him Down There; he is still useful. It is simply there, to remind him at times like these that he is important. He is needed. It reads: _Crowley_. He has it attached above his bed on earth. He doesn't let anyone touch his plaque, not ever. Well, he had, once. But that had been different. A mistake, in fact. It had been bumped accidentally from the bed. Perhaps he ought to move it higher.

Anyway, he does still do demon-ly things. Last week he made a teenager walk into the glass door of a building. And wilted all the flowers in the florist on Valentines Day. And there's his favourite, with the penny stuck to the ground. These are all demon-y things to do. They're not, as Aziraphale once pointed out, "Not really evil, are they? Your little tricks. Just a bit silly. You've lost most your real evil, I shouldn't wonder." And Crowley had disagreed vehemently until he'd dropped the topic. Crowley is evil. He just… hasn't had much inspiration lately.

Because every time he is about to do something truly horrid, like crash his car into a child, this face pops into his head and he will suddenly not feel like it anymore. Instead he just feels like singing aloud, or swinging round lampposts or something equally silly and equally un-Crowley. And then he feels foolish for being affected so strongly and wants to ignore it. And so then he goes and gets pissed. With his favourite drinking buddy. Which doesn't help.

And so Crowley can count the TRULY EVIL things he's done in the past millennia on one finger. And that had been an accident too. A slip of the tongue, an intoxicated mistake. A night that had lead to many more nights. Each time Crowley hates himself, hates the evil he's letting out, hates what he's doing and yet is unable to stop for fear of his meaningless survival without.

Crowley doesn't know what he'd do if _he_ fell. It seems inconceivable, yet all too believable. And Crowley feels sick with himself for letting this happen and vows each time that it will be the last, and holds that vow… until the next time.

He figures Down Below must have just forgotten him, maybe they have better plans, a new Armageddon perhaps. Or else, they're biding their time to come and get him, to get them both. And Crowley doesn't fear for himself, he can withstand any torture they choose- that one demon-ly element still resides within him. He fears for the other. His sensitive powers and pure energy which would be stripped away until there is nothing left except pain and torment and… Crowley.

Crowley assures himself that this won't happen, after all if they didn't think he was doing such a good job up here, why wouldn't they have brought him down yet?

He is still the master of the seven deadly sins. He can tempt all day quite enjoyably, when he doesn't have any meeting to go to. And not only does he tempt; he also thwarts the plans of Up There, too. It's all part of The Agreement.

Crowley blames Aziraphale for his crisis of identity. If that angel wasn't forever hovering over his shoulder, tutting over him and feeding his camomile tea, Crowley would be wreaking havoc quite cheerfully. But somehow Aziraphale's presence, his calming demeanour and musty bookshop, somehow they make Crowley relax and so he can somehow never be bothered. And this worries him. For a demon to prefer to sit for hours exchanging meaningless banter with an agent from The Other Side than to be out causing misery surely isn't healthy. And Crowley would bring up the point, only to be distracted by Aziraphale's chocolate cake and poetry books.

Crowley thinks Aziraphale is beautiful. This, he reasons, it acceptable for him to think, as ethereal being are, in general, considered beautiful by everyone, demons included. But Aziraphale is beautiful in a different way. His pure light and goodness sting Crowley's eyes, his gentle expression that practically oozes innocence, lures out the tempter of Crowley's serpentine nature, and his mouth, soft against Crowley's mouth, makes him forget what it is to be a demon, and envelopes him with the warmth of the Moment.

Aziraphale is an enigma. Crowley has never figured him out entirely. As soon as he believes he has him pinned, he comes out with something so unexpected it shreds all Crowley's formulated ideas and scatters them to the winds. And Crowley looks at him, baffled, until he goes red and smiles self-consciously at the demon.

But Crowley knows that he can't live without the angel, not now. Not after everything they've been through together. They survived an _Armageddon_; surely they can survive anything their superiors choose to throw at them.

Crowley wonders whether Aziraphale worries, the same way he does. He wonders whether Aziraphale spends nights, lying awake watching his sleeping form, terrified and thrilled simultaneously. He wonders whether Aziraphale _cares_, the way he does.

And Crowley recognises his thoughts and wonders whether he truly is a demon at all.

"Crowley?"

He turns to the human shaped form next to him. Sleepy eyes appraise him and he wonders again how anyone can live without this.

"Hmmm?"

"You okay?"

"Always."

Crowley reassures him and smoothes down his hair until he falls asleep again, across Crowley's chest, their unnecessary hearts beating in time together.

And Crowley resigns himself to the fact that, if he is no longer a demon- at least Aziraphale is still an angel.

And that makes it okay.

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**Please review. I need to know whether to do more about these two or to stick with my little HP buddies. Thanksxx**

**Zellxx**


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